


Nervous Breakdown Hat

by out_there



Category: Sports Night
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-01-12
Updated: 2005-01-12
Packaged: 2017-10-15 05:33:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/out_there/pseuds/out_there
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're worried that I'm not wearing my nervous breakdown hat in front of Charlie?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nervous Breakdown Hat

**Author's Note:**

> Set in post-S2 future with a semi-grown up Charlie. Inspired by Denver Butson's poem, ["what she was wearing"](http://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/index.php?date=2009/02/23). Thanks to both [](http://phoebesmum.livejournal.com/profile)[**phoebesmum**](http://phoebesmum.livejournal.com/) and [](http://ngaio.livejournal.com/profile)[**ngaio**](http://ngaio.livejournal.com/) for betaing and making me finish this.

Casey tries to look as if he isn't eavesdropping, even though he is. He's standing in his kitchen, doing the single man's version of cooking pasta -- cooking the pre-packaged pasta, reheating the sauce-in-a-jar, then mixing the two together -- and listening as hard as he can to what Charlie's saying to Dan. Charlie's talking quietly, furtively; it's the way a sixteen year old boy talks about friends and girls, drinking and drugs and peer pressure. All the things his uncool dad would never understand. Those are the things he talks to Danny about.

From the pinched, hurt expression on Dan's face, Casey knows that something Charlie's said has hit a nerve; stirred ghosts that Dan prefers to ignore. Dan speaks in a low, serious tone and Charlie listens raptly. But try as he might, Casey can't make out the words.

Whatever Dan says makes Charlie's face melt into a compassionate frown, makes Charlie reply, "I'm sorry, Danny. I didn't mean"

There are times when Casey wishes that Dan didn't hold his pain so close to him; that just for once, he could be hurt and let it out, instead of clinging on to the appearance of being fine. Then again, Casey isn't the epitome of emotionally-open-and-vulnerable, so he doesn't actually have any room to criticize.

Dan plasters on his grin like a suit of armor; like he believes that if he just smiles brightly enough, no one will see the pain in his eyes. It's a familiar expression. Casey turns his attention back to the steaming pasta in front of him, stifling the futile urge to walk over and hold Danny. It wouldn't be appropriate in front of Charlie; more than that, it wouldn't be welcomed by Dan.

"It's fine, Charles." Dan grins as if he's telling the truth, and stands up. Charlie inches back, looking slightly confused, and Casey has a moment of pride, thinking that his son is able to recognize that Danny's smile is meant for strangers. "I wouldn't tell you if I didn't think you should know."

Charlie nods seriously. "Okay."

Dan stretches his shoulders, an obvious sign that he wants the subject changed and the conversation forgotten. "You know what isn't fine?"

"What?" Charlie asks, still fairly quiet.

Dan pitches his voice loud enough to travel to the kitchen easily. "How long Casey takes to reheat pasta."

Casey quickly spoons the pasta into the bowls, calling back, "There was a minor disaster opening the sauce, but it's all under control now."

"A disaster?" Dan asks warily. "Am I going to be finding glass shards in my pasta?"

"I don't think so." Casey glances up to see Dan and Charlie standing in the doorway. These days, there's only an inch of height between them, but Casey can't help thinking that given a few years, Charlie's going to be taller than both him and Danny. Danny teases him about that, but it doesn't bother him. Not really.

Charlie lowers his brows, a good imitation of being concerned. "That's less than reassuring, Dad."

"Well, there won't be any in yours," Casey says, passing Charlie a bowl, "but I can't be certain about Danny's."

Dan rolls his eyes and then takes his bowl out of Casey's hands. "If I die from consuming broken glass, I want it known that you get nothing in my will."

Casey picks up his own bowl and follows them to the small dining table. "Really?"

"Charlie is to inherit all of my worldly possessions," Dan declares decisively. Charlie has a mouth full of pasta, but he looks up in surprise.

Casey plays along with Dan's grin. "All of them?"

"Everything," Dan says.

"Even your car?" Charlie asks hopefully. He's been lusting after Dan's car for a few years now.

Dan splutters on his pasta. "Over my dead body," Dan says as he reaches for his glass of lemonade.

Charlie's smile is too innocent to be believed. "I thought that was the idea."

Casey laughs as Dan rolls his eyes and drinks deeply. "No comeback for that, Danny?"

Dan's saved from answering by the electronic trilling of a cell phone. Both Dan and Charlie fumble in their pockets. Casey's suddenly glad that he didn't let Dan talk him into buying that particular model too, regardless of how supposedly cool it is.

The ringing phone turns out to be Charlie's, and his son turns to him with an anxious eagerness. "Um, Dad, can I...?"

Casey nods and lazily points at his closed bedroom door. "Take it in my room." As soon as he says that, Charlie bolts out of his chair, holding the tiny silver phone against his ear.

Casey shakes his head at the sound of Charlie saying, "Yeah, just give me a minute..." Then Casey's bedroom door is firmly closed.

"Teenagers, huh?" Dan asks with a smirk that's only half-ironic.

"I'd agree with you, but it would make me feel old." Casey spears a few piece of pasta with his fork.

"Casey, my man, you already *are* old."

He gave up arguing against the old cracks when he turned forty. According to Dan, his claim of youth was a lost cause long before that. "Whippersnapper," Casey mutters, shoveling food into his mouth.

"That makes me feel like Dennis the Menace." Dan finishes his own mouthful. "You know, when I was in second grade, we had this cranky neighbor on our floor. Always used to call us whippersnappers and pests. And hoodlums."

"You were a hoodlum at eight years old?"

Dan shrugged. "I was precocious."

They fall quiet for a few moments, both eating steadily. Then Casey hears a loud exclamation of "You're kidding!" from his bedroom. Charlie's voice lowers. "She really said that?" Charlie asks, and the sound fades to a wordless murmur again.

Dan raises his eyebrows. "The vital world of gossip and high-school crushes," he intones seriously.

"Is that what you and Charlie were talking about?" It's not the most effective cross-examination, but there are good reasons why Casey isn't a lawyer; aside from the fact that he lacks the necessary post-graduate degrees.

"Pretty much," Dan says after a slight pause.

"What did you tell him?" A small part of Casey is just being an overprotective father; he trusts Dan but he wants to make sure Charlie isn't being given the wrong advice. The rest of him is just worried about Danny.

Dan smiles brightly, and it's one more wall between him and the rest of the world. "I can't tell you that."

"Danny." Reaching across the table, Casey grips one of Dan's hands with his own. It's warm and solid under his hand, all the things that Dan's smile isn't.

"I'm not going to tell you, Casey. Charlie tells me that stuff in confidence. I'm not going to betray his trust." Dan closes his eyes for a slow second, but when he opens them, he meets Casey's gaze easily. "If it was something serious, if I thought you needed to know, I'd tell you."

"I just..." Casey wishes he had the words to say that he was more worried about Dan than about Dan's judgment on Charlie's needs. Casey sighs and squeezes Dan's hand. "You're okay?"

Dan looks taken aback at that. "I'm fine." Dan pulls his hand back. Since Charlie could walk back out any minute, that's probably a practical idea, but Casey knows Dan's avoidance tactics when he sees them.

"You looked pretty serious when you were talking to Charlie," Casey says, carefully taking another mouthful.

"Casey." There's a world of warning in Dan's tone."

"I was just checking," he hastily assures Dan. "Not as an accusation, just as a concerned friend."

"You're worried that I'm not wearing my nervous breakdown hat in front of Charlie?" Dan lets his fork clatter against the china bowl.

Casey blinks, trying to place the reference. Then he remembers the poem stuck to the side of Dan's fridge. "It's not that. It's... Charlie." He shrugs.

"Meaning?"

"I don't like to push but if it's important, I'll know, right?" He hopes Dan knows that his concern applies to Danny as well as to Charlie. "It's not that I don't trust you but Charlie's my son. Even if it's important, there's a chance he wouldn't tell me. Loving someone doesn't mean they'll confide in you, and how can I help if I don't even know what's going on?"

"You'll know," Dan says with quiet certainty. "You've got to trust people to tell you when it's important, Casey. Have a little faith in them."

Casey swallows. "Faith doesn't stop me from worrying."

"Nothing could stop you from worrying," Dan shoots back, but his grin isn't quite convincing.

"You telling me what you guys were talking about would help," Casey says, not expecting any real details.

Dan snorts. "Subtle, McCall."

Casey smiles. "Can't blame a guy for trying."

"Will it really make you feel better?" Dan asks patronizingly.

Biting down on another mouthful of pasta, Casey nods.

"It's just teenage stuff. The melodrama we all went through in high school. Am I popular enough? Are my grades good enough? What do I want to do with the rest of my life? Did the cute girl from my English class smile at me?" Dan's grin sharpens. "Do my friends think I'm cool?"

Casey recognizes the subtle jab. "That last question remains important throughout a man's life."

"Well, it remains important to some," Dan replies with a chuckle. "Others achieve maturity and realize that not everything in life revolves around being popular."

Casey lets his brows furrow as he thinks. "You're talking about Jeremy, right?"

Over Dan's shoulder, he sees his bedroom door open and Charlie -- sixteen and gangly, full of uncertainty and youthful arrogance, and still the best thing Casey's ever done in his entire life -- walks back into the room. Dan gives Charlie a quick grin, and Casey knows he's worrying unnecessarily. But Dan's right. Casey wouldn't be himself if he wasn't worrying about something.

"What's this about Jeremy?" Charlie asks as he sits back down at the table, his call obviously finished.

Dan shakes his head. "You don't want to know, Charles. Your father is just being immature."

"I'm mature," Casey whines, relaxing into the familiar pattern of teasing. Charlie and Dan share a long, disbelieving look. "I am."

"Dad, you own Tweety Bird socks."

"They're cute," he says, and Dan and Charlie share another look. Casey realizes that wasn't the manliest response possible. "Besides, Natalie gave them to me. I'm a little frightened to throw them out."

Charlie laughs, but Dan nods sagely. "That's a wise decision, my friend. Confucius once said 'it is much better to wear embarrassing socks, than to be without pants.'"

"Yeah," Casey replies dryly, "*that's* what Confucius said."

Danny grins unrepentantly. "I'm sure I've got it written down somewhere at home."

Both Charlie and Casey roll their eyes at him. "Sure, Danny."


End file.
